Some Things Are Universal
by Mark Reasoner
Area 51’s commanding officer, Lt. General Stan Molton, was fed up. The alien creature was causing more carnage and wreaking more havoc on his base than any study or research on it could justify.
He called the White House in Washington and asked for the President’s Special Assistant for Scientific and Space Affairs. “Get this thing off my base!” Molton screamed, not giving the call’s recipient time even to say: “Hello.”
“I’ve had enough! I want it gone, NOW!”
“And good morning to you, General,” Dr. Jane Fisker replied calmly. “Do I take it you are experiencing issues with our visitor?”
“Did you not hear me?!” Molton continued, still hollering over the line. “I want that ‘thing,’ or whatever it is, taken off my hands before I let my science boys carve it up, for a whole different kind of research!”
“General, please calm down and lower your voice,” Fisker said, keeping her cool. “I’m sure the situation is not that bad.”
“Not that bad!” Molton exclaimed. “Haven’t you been paying attention?! That damned critter has blown up two labs and started a food fight in the cafeteria! We’ve lost years of research, and I’ve blown through my entire janitorial budget cleaning up after it! I can’t afford to have it here, no matter how much we could learn!”
“That’s enough, General,” Fisker said. “Take a breath and calm down, or I will terminate this call, and you will be stuck.”
There was silence as General Molton did as he was asked.
“That’s better,” Fisker continued. “Now, first of all, the ‘thing’ you are referring is an Anklorran. Granted, it is not from our world, but it is a living and intelligent being. You need to respect it as such. Second, I have read your reports, along with Dr. Cullen’s report on what the Anklorran did at DC Memorial Hospital, but there has been no permanent damage done.”
“And third,” she continued, talking over the general’s attempt to protest, “you did ask for custody. Insisted on it, as I recall, running roughshod over eight other agencies. It would appear that you have made your bed and must now lie in it.”
Before General Molton could say anything, alarms sounded throughout Area 51. “This isn’t over, Doc,” Molton said. “I’ll have to call you back.”
After hanging up, Molton called Base Operations to find out what was up.
“The alien got loose again,” Lt. DeVry reported. “It made its way to Hanger 12-C and apparently tried to take off in the X-89 prototype.”
“Why wasn’t it escorted?” Molton asked. “I thought I ordered that after what happened in the cafeteria!”
“I don’t know, sir, DeVry replied. “Right now, we’re just trying to contain the situation.”
General Molton had ordered the Anklorran to be placed under 24-hour guard and escort after the incidents in the labs and the food fight. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop it from getting away on its own to create more trouble.
One new vehicle that Area 51 was working on was a hybrid air/space fighter called the X-89. This almost-finished prototype sat outside its hanger on the ramp and was unguarded when the Anklorran snuck through the hanger. The Anklorran climbed into the cockpit and began pushing buttons randomly.
When the engines started, someone noticed, and alarms sounded. People came running. The Anklorran kept pushing buttons and throwing switches until it hit the vehicle’s ejection mechanism. The canopy blew away, and the seat — with the alien — rocketed upward for just about a thousand feet. At this point, the seat’s parachutes deployed and floated back down to land on the ramp with a thud.
“That fun!” the Anklorran exclaimed when ramp personnel got to it. “Again! Do again!”
“Not happening,” the Technical Sergeant in charge said. He and two colleagues unstrapped the alien from the ejection seat and turned it over to security personnel. It was returned to its quarters. All this happened before General Molton arrived on the scene.
* * *
The whole craziness had started the previous July in what became known as The Potomac Incident. A small craft came roaring down through the atmosphere trailing smoke and flames, passing less than a thousand feet over the thousands gathered on the National Mall to celebrate Independence Day. The ship proceeded to crash into the Potomac River just past its confluence with the Anacostia River.
Quick action by the Coast Guard rescued the only occupant of the craft and took it to DC Memorial Hospital, where the doctors and nurses successfully kept it alive.
The government was not able to cover up the event but, fortunately, the rescued being turned out to be an Anklorran, one of the two alien species humans knew about, having already experienced first contact with them previously on the International Space Station.
Deciding what to do with this new visitor set off an inter-agency fight involving nine different government offices. The White House had to step in and ended up bowing to pressure from the Air Force and Area 51 to let those folks have it. Transfer occurred after the Anklorran got loose in the children’s pavilion, starting a painting free-for-all that left a playroom and a dozen children, covered in various colored tempura.
Now it belonged to Area 51 and was continuing to cause major problems.
* * *
After the alien was secured in its quarters again, General Molton called Dr. Fisker to report on the latest disaster it had caused.
“I’m sorry, General,” Fisker told him, “but, given everything that’s happened, none of the other agencies want to take custody of your friend. It appears you are stuck with it, though I assure you we will do whatever we can to help deal with the situation.”
Molton hung up the phone and sat behind his desk, thinking about what could be done. He couldn’t come up with anything, so he called his aide and asked the man to convene a meeting of various parties to come up with something.
They gathered in the general’s conference room the next afternoon. Present were General Molton, his aide, Captain Peter Brayson, two scientists; Dr. Mary Wolofitz and Dr. Clayton McLane and Base Security Chief, Lt. Col. Abe Kroner.
“Alright, people, we all know what the problem is,” Molton began. “What can we do about it? I am open to ideas.”
“Just get rid of it,” Dr. McLane said. “We haven’t been able to learn anything from it. The creature won’t stay in one place long enough to answer our questions.”
“Not only that,” Dr. Wolofitz added, “while it seems to understand our language, everything it says indicates its intellectual development is lacking. It seems to be quite childlike.”
“What do you suggest?” Molton asked.
“This will sound callous,” Dr. McLane said, “but I think we should kill it so we can dissect it. We could at least learn about its physiology, which might help us in the future.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Captain Brayson exclaimed. “Not to mention repulsive! It’s a living and breathing being! You are sounding like Dr. Mengele!”
“The captain’s right, Clay,” Wolofitz said. “You’re being a bit extreme.”
“Agreed,” Molton said. “That option is off the table.”
“How about keeping it permanently sedated?” McLane said. “At least that way we’d be able to control it.”
“If all you want to do is control it,” Lt. Col. Kroner said, “let’s put it down in the bunker with the Ulnarians in residence. They’ll keep it tamed.”
“Somehow, I doubt it,” Brayson said. “Given what it has shown it can do, the Ulnarians will likely have problems and might even appeal to us for help.”
Everyone chuckled at that image.
Ulnarians were the second alien species Humans had met. This incident happened just after first contact with the Anklorrans when a pursuit of refugees resulted in several Ulnarians crashing in Australia, the Atlantic Ocean and southwest Kansas. The Kansas event resulted in a court ruling of true alien asylum.
“Okay, folks, thanks for coming,” Molton said. “Keep trying to come up with ideas. Let’s meet again next week. Also think about anyone we could ask for help.”
Help arrived three days later from a most unexpected quarter.
* * *
“I have an unidentified object descending at high speed directly over us!” the radar operator exclaimed.
“Origin?” the supervisor asked.
“Unknown. It simply appeared on a direct descent.”
“Sound alert! Scramble intercept and notify top command!” the supervisor said. “And get NORAD on the line. They should have warned us.”
Like the well-rehearsed team they were, the radar crew quickly did their assigned tasks.
“What’s going on?!” the supervisor said when NORAD came on the line. “We have something coming directly at us! Why didn’t you guys notify us?”
“Sorry,” NORAD said. “It just popped up on our scopes, too. We were just getting ready to call you. Do you need us to intercept?”
“You’d never get here in time,” the supervisor answered. “We got this.”
Two F-15 Eagle fighters took off within five minutes of the order to scramble. ‘Vulture One,’ and ‘Vulture Two’ went vertical as soon as they left the ground and kicked in their afterburners. The object was still over thirty miles up, just beyond the fighters’ ceiling but still within communications range. It was also beginning to slow down.
“Unidentified craft, this is the U.S. Air Force,” Vulture One said over all frequencies. “You are in restricted airspace. Identify yourself and prepare to leave the area, or you will be fired on.”
“We are an Anklorran shuttle with peaceful intentions,” the descending ship replied. “We are in search of one of our own who stole a shuttle and has gone missing. Please allow us to land.”
“Anklorran ship, hold your position and stand by,” Vulture One responded.
“Well, I think they came to the right place,” Vulture Two radioed to her wingman.
Vulture One changed frequencies. “Base, this is One. Did you copy that last?”
“We did,” the supervisor said. “Permission granted. Have them set down off the main runway.”
Vulture One acknowledged and gave the Anklorrans directions.
Back in the base operations center, the supervisor scrambled emergency teams and a security detail to greet the visitors. He also called General Molton’s office to ask if he wanted to meet the Anklorrans.
The shuttle landed softly on the ground next to the tarmac. Its engines shut down, and a ramp descended from the craft. One Anklorran exited, walking directly up to the armed sergeant. The alien took each of the sergeant’s hands with crossed arms and leaned in to touch foreheads.
“Uh... welcome,” the sergeant said. “Please come with me.”
The detail escorted the Anklorran to a conference room where General Molton and several others waited. The Anklorran repeated its gesture with the general.
“I am pleased you let me land,” it said. “I do hope you can help me.”
“The pleasure is ours,” the general said. “What is it you want?”
“My name is FronLorSen. I am part of a survey and research mission from Anklorran. We are in the midst of a long deployment in this region of the galaxy, but we have a problem.”
“What is that?” Molton asked.
“It seems one of our shuttles was stolen,” FronLorSen said. “We are searching for it and its occupant. Given that your world is the only inhabited one in this area of space, we are hoping it came here.”
“It did,” Molton replied. “It crashed into a river after flying over a large gathering of people in this nation’s capital.”
“Oh, my!” FronLorSen said. “I hope no one was injured.”
“Only the ship’s occupant,” the general said. “But it was rescued and treated. Recovered quite well.”
“I am so glad to hear that,” FronLorSen said. “I am here to retrieve him.”
“Him?” Dr. McLane asked. “That is news to us. We were not able to determine gender. We never even got his name.”
“His name is FlinJorNen,” FronLorSen said. “And he is my son.”
“Your son?” Dr. Wolofitz exclaimed. “Just how old is he?”
“Six cycles,” FronLorSen replied. “I believe you call them ‘years.’”
“Good grief!” Wolofitz replied. “No wonder he caused so much trouble. He’s just a kid.”
“A pretty smart one,” Lt. Col. Kroner said. “He could fly a spacecraft, sort of.”
“Our shuttles are mostly autonomous,” FronLorSen said, “though my son did break through our security profiles.”
“What sort of trouble did he cause?” she continued.
General Molton quickly explained all the disruption and damage caused by FlinJorNen, ending with the incident with the X-89 and the ejector seat.
FronLorSen shook her head. “I deeply apologize,” she said, “and rest assured; he will be severely punished. May I see him now?”
The general called security, instructing them to bring the now-identified Anklorran to the conference room. He also sent for Captain Brayson.
While they waited for the others to arrive, the general and the scientists asked FronLorSen about her mission.
“My husband and I are astronomers,” she said. “Our mission is to survey this portion of the quadrant in order to update our star charts. We are part of a larger crew. We have been away from our home planet for eight of your years. We are on our way home but are not scheduled to arrive for three more years. FlinJorNen was conceived and born during the mission.”
“I thought Anklorrans traveling in space couldn’t reproduce,” Wolofitz said.
“That is true only of our pioneers and trailblazers,” FronLorSen answered. “They never return home. Since my friends and I will return, we are not altered.”
Armed guards brought FlinJorNen in. When he saw FronLorSen, he broke away and ran to her.
“Ah-Ma! Ah-Ma!” he exclaimed. “Eesh malk te grum. Nuuk luk-klo nip fuhn.”
FronLorSen wagged a finger in front of her son’s face.
“Juk lit hium fok fuhn!” she said harshly. “Juk quakked yilt enf ez-xar-ded ut! Juk stym-propp rit gok stut!”
Her voice was rising. She forced FlinJorNen into a chair, still hovering over him.
“Akwik lop nes-LURRV qut juk vib! Juk bit GRUP TENK en MUT TIK-TIK!!”
FlinJorNen crossed his arms and sulked but remained silent.
Captain Brayson began laughing.
“Just what is so damned funny, Captain?!” Molton asked.
“I’m sorry, General,” the captain said, regaining his composure. “And I do apologize to our guests. I couldn’t help it.”
“Explain.”
“Well, sir,” the captain replied, “while I don’t understand Anklorran, I understood that conversation perfectly. I had the same one with my four-year old two nights ago. He threw a major tantrum at bedtime.”
“Come to think of it,” General Molton replied, “I’ve had that conversation with both my children and grandchildren over the years. I guess some things are universal. Wouldn’t you agree, ma’am?”
FronLorSen smiled. “Indeed.”
Copyright © 2026 by Mark Reasoner
